


Inferno

by snails_n_brokenbones



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bread, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Dark Katniss Everdeen, F/M, Fire, I won't write smut I'm sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Peeta Mellark, Victor! Katniss, What-If, many minor characters die I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 08:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snails_n_brokenbones/pseuds/snails_n_brokenbones
Summary: If she's the girl on fire, then he's the one who got too close.
Relationships: Delly Cartwright & Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Rye Mellark/ Original Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Johnathan Mellark didn't talk much. Never did, even as a young boy words were few and far apart. Instead, he dedicated his time to baking. If words weren't absolutely needed, then why bother? That didn't change in adulthood, even after his sons were born. No words were wasted. Which meant that everything said was of utter most importance. 

When Johnathan talked to his three sons, the lights of his life, he didn't tell them tall tales. No stories of heroes vanqueshing over evil, no stories of dragons and knights battling until the end. No stories that painted pictures with large words, down to the last blade of grass. No, Johnathan shared facts. 

To him, knowledge was power. He was handing them the most powerful weapon. An understanding of the work around them and how it worked. He was careful with what he said, because you always had to be careful, but he laid it to his sons straight. No lies. No pretence. 

And Peeta treasures that knowledge. Every fact, every word and every syllable, he hold onto like it was a pearl. He understands crystal clear. Knowledge is power. And he understands

Peeta also likes to observe. Some things didn't make sense, until he looked closer. He observers, and mentally writes down what he sees. On nights when he couldn't sleep because his parents were at it- he hates their matches. Screaming back and forth, jabbing fingers and shoving blame towards each othe -he'd recite through the list. 

She has a younger sister. She sung like the gods were shining down on her. She used to wear her hair in two braids. She kept to herself. She was from the Seam. She had beautiful eyes. Her father died. He gave her bread. She is friends with Gale Hawthorne. She still keeps to herself. 

Her name is Katniss Everdeen, and she is everything. Always was. She is the centre of his universe, the sun and the moon and all the stars. He can't keep his eyes off her. Since he first met her, he knew that Katniss would always be everything, whether he likes it or not. 

And that is just fact. 

\------

He's sixteen, nearly seventeen, when it all changes. Sixteen years old. Not much longer to go, but the fear never goes away. It's fear that prickles in his chest and bubbles into his chest. He can't eat on the Reaping morning, never could. He tried once, when he was thirteen because his mother was screaming at him to eat the damn food, but he just regurgitated it all. That was the last time she forced him to eat on Reaping mornings. 

Rye is the one who doesn't sleep, and Bran doesn't stop shaking. They're all messes, as opposed to Peeta being the only screw-up most days. Something about the thought of loosing two more kids, two kids who could very well be one of them, makes them all nervous. Beyond nervous, actually. Terrified. Peeta couldn't imagine loosing his brothers. Loosing himself. 

He makes bread that morning. Kneads and kneadsand kneads until he's close to snapping. But he continues to knead the bread. It's better than punching a wall, punching himself or punching someone else. 

"I think that's enough." A sarcastic voice laughs. Peeta scowls and kneads the bread for another minute, if just to prove a point. Then he leaves it, marching across the kitchen to wipe the flour off his hands. 

"So," He begins, "What do you want?" Peeta asks, throwing his arms up. His voice is filled with frustration, aiming at anyone who gets close. He doesn't mean to snap, it just happens. 

Rye scoffs. "Can't I see my little brother on such a wonderful morning?" He proclaims, leaning against the counter. Out of all the brothers, Rye makes the most jokes, and is the most annoying- and extroverted. Peeta's humour is self-depricating most of the time, and Bran likes dad jokes. 

"If you ask me, anything but wonderful." Peeta says under his breath, but he slings an arm around Rye's shoulder. "Now, I can clearly remember you, drunk of your ass, asking for help making a carrot cake for your secret lover." 

Rye groans and covers his quickly reddening face in the nook of his elbow. "Stop. No. This is all wrong. I'm supposed to be the one teasing you about crushes, not the other way around." He complains, but starts grabbing the ingredients for carrot cake. He doesn't deny the 'secret lover' part though, and Peeta relishes in that small victory. 

The two boys finally find they find a comfortable pace in the kitchen, moving around each in an intricate dance of preparing the cake. It's what first made Peeta fall in love with baking. There's something musical about it, the rhythm of the wooden spoon hitting the edge of the bowl and the oven dinging. It's incredible. Rye's more experimental, nearly pouring different ingredients in the bowl before Peeta swats his hand away. 

As they wait for the carrot cake to finish baking, they play a card game. All three brothers gather around Rye's bed and slam well-worm cards down on the blankets. Peeta smiles until he cheeks ache, though he instantly feel guilty. Two kids will be stolen today, and yet he's laughing. So unfair. So he shuts up and slams the cards down on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest. Neither Bran nor Rye say anything, but each of them place a hand on Peeta's shoulders. Brothers. Some days that word feels like an obligation, or a burden, but today it feels like a blessing. Brothers. Peeta's rocks, his backbone. People here relies on heavily. And in turn, he helps them. That's how siblings work, he thinks. 

The carrot cake comes out of the oven, and the three of them crowd the kitchen and decorate it with whatever decorations they can use, ones that their mother won't notice missing. Not too much, but just enough that the cake looks pretty. Peeta tilts his head at his handywork, smiling to himself. It'll make a nice present for which ever girl Rye has decided to become infatuated with this time. A wonderful treat for once the Reaping is over. Yes? The carrot cake is perfect. 

"So, need any help delivering it? I'd be more than happy to talk to your sweetheart. We should have family dinner at some time." Bran teases. Rye groans yet again, wriggling out of his older brother's grasp. 

"Please no. God no. Mom would hate it. Let me just deliver this on my own, okay? Maybe someday you'll know, but not today. Okay?" Rye states. Bran and Peeta nod, and start clearing up before their mother wakes up. If she was to see the mess, she'd throw a fit and both of them would be forced walk to the Reaping sporting a nice blue-ish purple-ish bruise. And neither of them wants that. 

As he sweeps the crumbs into the dust pan, Peeta can faintly make out Rye picking a small flower from the flowerbed next door. He doesn't see which flower it is, but he tucks that observation into the depths of his memory. A flower. Huh. Interesting, Peeta thinks, but quickly snaps his attention back to cleaning the kitchen of all signs of the carrot cake. 

Bran places his hand on Peeta's shoulder. "You should get ready. Not much time until the Reaping." He says. His mouth twists into a frown as he stares into the distance. It is a frown that speaks of maturity, of a boy whose rose coloured glasses had been snatched away suddenly and had been forced to grow up much too soon. Peeta just nods and bounds upstairs to his bedroom. The one he shares with Rye. 

He pulls on his Reaping outfit, the fancy one his mother had been reluctant to spend money on. She wants him to look good, yes, but also hates spending unnecessary money on her sons. It is itchy and uncomfortable, like needles poking into his skin, but Peeta knows he won't have to wear it for long. So he shuts up and deals with it. 

He slowly steps down the stairs, pausing at the sounds of voices. One voice in particular. Her voice. He leans against the banister, biting his lip to keep the words unsaid. Eventually, she leaves and Peeta can breath again. 

"What a shame. She just left." Bran teases. Peeta frowns and leaves without saying anything. He's not in the mood to listen to Brian's jests about Katniss. No, now isn't the day for joking. Two children are about to be stolen. It isn't funny. 

They all make their way to the herding pens, like sheep heading to the slaughter. So unaware of how their lives could be radically changed. Two of them will be chosen and two of them will be stolen. It isn't fair, and not for the first time, Peeta knows that he truly hates the Games. 

Effie talks for too long. Her voice is high-pitched and it pounds against his chest, grating at his ribs. Grate. Grate. Grate. Then she click-clacks to the Reaping pools. Her hand with those unnaturally long nails reach inside and she pulls out. 

It's not her name. It's not her name, but it is her sister. Primrose Everdeen is the name chosen. A small twelve year-old who only has one name in the pools. One name. It's unfair. 

She screams. She shouts and she sobs. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" She yells, making her way to the stage. Breathing doesn't come easily for Peeta. He wants to grab her, stop her, touch her wrist to make sure that she's real, that this is actually real. He wants to cry. But he doesn't. 

She looks beautiful as Effie click-clacks again and reaches for the second name. 

Sage Aragon. 

This time it's Rye who's sobbing and yelling and screaming and shouting. Sage says something, something Peeta can't make out between the sobbing and shocked gasps. Sage shoves through the sixteen year-olds to make his way to the stage, and Peeta catches a whiff of something. 

Of carrot cake. The carrot cake he baked for Rye's secret lover. 

He's sixteen, nearly seventeen, when four lives are changed forever. Two children stolen, two left behind with broken hearts. 

Two children are stolen. The girl who has always been his everything, and a boy who smells of carrot cake. 

\------

He turns seventeen the day the Hunger Games ends. He turns seventeen when she wins. 

She wraps herself in the deerskin- though Peeta doubts that it's actually a deer. No deer does what her deer did -and stares at the cameras. That beautiful deerskin. It's the colour of freshly baked cookies, with small flecks of goldenvon there somewhere. At night, basking in the moon light, it looks silver. In daylight with the rising sun, it looks like pure gold. 

He begs. He begs. He begs. Says that there has to be another way. She doesn't have to. He has a plan. He pulls out the berries, say that the game makers have to have a Victor. It's a perfect plan. 

She lets her arrow go. 

He remembers those squirrels his father traded for. Shot perfectly in the eyeball. She has impeccable aim. 

The boy who smelled of carrot cake is gone. Rye is crying. Sobbing. Screaming. He hate her. Peeta knows he does. 

Katniss Everdeen is the Victor. 

He wishes he could hate her. Hate her for breaking his older brother into pieces and killing the boy who smelled of carrot cake and so many others. 

He can't. 

He loves her. She is everything. His whole world and he loves her no matter what she will ever do. 

He's seventeen when she first scares him. When she wins and she stands there in that golden deerskin. Blood on her hands, but he still loves her. He loves her. 

\------

If she's the Girl On Fire, he will gladly be swallowed up by her flames.


	2. Chapter 2

Even if Johnathan Mellark never told stories, Marilyn Cartwright definitely did. She had a voice of honey and all things sweet. A voice of marzipan candy and carefully plucked sunflowers with a pale pink ribbon tied around the make-shift bouquet. Peeta can vividly remember sitting by the fireplace as a small child, curled up with Delly Cartwright under the blanket as Marilyn told them stories of far away lands. 

His favourite was one she'd told them one late winter evening. Peeta had come to the Cartwright household to escape the screaming in his own. He much preffered the kind and soft Marilyn to his own harsh mother. 

Peeta canvaguely how the story goes, but he can't forget the feeling of being loved he felt as Marilyn tucked the blanket around, as she kissed his forehead goodnight. She promised that he was always welcome over. He could stay as long as he needed, or wanted. 

She sat beside his borrowed bed, running her pinkie finger over the arch of his nose. Like a mother was supposed to. 

"Once upon a time, there was a boy who was in love. He was in love with a girl, a girl who had sunshine blonde hair that glittered golden in the summer. She always her hair in two perfect braids, but sometimes in morning she'd let her hair down and it positively glowed. The boy was in love with this girl. In love with her braids of spun gold. So, one day in summer, he decided to get the girl a gift. In fact, he vowed to get her best gift he could find. A gift that rivaled the beauty of her golden braids and her infectious laughter. 

"He decided that only one gift would do, the sun itself." 

Peeta had gasped at that statement. How could one capture the sun, and present it as a gift, he pondered outloud. Marilyn Cartwright had chuckled softly, looking amused. 

"Nobody knew. The boy asked everyone in his small town on how to capture the sun, but most of them laughed at him. Told him that he was just a boy. He shouldn't be worrying about love, they told him. It was pointless, they said. The girl would never love him back, his own mother said. But the boy relented. One day, the longest day in the whole year, the boy went out into the large meadow and called up at the sky. 'Hello? Anyone there?' He called out.

"And so the sun replied. 'I am here, going boy. But I do have to ask, what is such a young boy doing out here all by himself?' The boy just laughed. 'I am here to capture you, silly.' The sun looked very perplexed at the young boy. No one has ever tried to capture it before, and especially not someone so small. 'Well, you are going to wait a very long time, because I don't allow just anyone to capture me. First, you must tame me. And taming takes a very long time. A very long time.' It said. 

"The boy decided to wait. He sat in the meadow and watched as the sun slowly disappeared and reappeared. The days repeated and time melted in on itself. The boy grew up, until he was no longer a big but a man. One day, on the girl's birthday, the sun finally relented and allowed itself to be captured. The boy had done it."

A nearly asleep Peeta had bleariky asked, "So what happened next? Did he give it to the girl?" 

Marilyn smiled sadly at that and tweaked Peeta's nose. "No. You see, all that time the boy had waited, the girl had grown up. She had lived her life. Gotten married to her best friend. She even had a young child of her own. The boy was heartbroken." Marilyn signed, leaning back against the frame of the bed. "What I'm trying to say is, Peeta, don't let life pass you by. Live in the moment. Live in every day. Okay?" 

Peeta had fallen asleep after that, not understanding what Marilyn meant. 

He thinks that he does now. His own love may not have spun lucks of gold, but she's a beautiful songbird instead. 

He understands now. 

\------

"She's coming home tomorrow." Delly says, grabbing a cheese bun as she slams the door shut. Peeta huffs but watches keenly as she devours the cheese bun, watching for any sign of something gone wrong. Delly rolls her eyes. "Stop ogling at me. They're great, as always. You discredit yourself way too much." 

Peeta nods, then after a couple seconds he quickly adds, "Did I add enough cheese? I added less in than normal and I was worried that it wouldn't be enough. Should I add more next time?" 

Delly holds one hand up. Her mouth is stuffed full of cheese bun, but she manages to talk through it. "Peeta. You did great. I know that you're not really worried about the cheese buns. What else is wrong?" 

He chuckles under his breath. So much. So much is wrong, with everything, with him. He's wrong. He's messed up. But he gives Delly the concise version, with a dash of bitter sarcasm added for flavour. 

"My brother hasn't come out of his room for nearly three weeks, my older brother is nowhere to be found, I have a nice bruise on my back from where my mother shoved me up against the oven last night because I was being too loud, and I'm so damn tired but I can't sleep because everytime I close my eyes I see her burning alive!" He nearly-shouts, shoulders shaking with tension. 

Delly's face falls, and Peeta immediately feels guilty about his outburst. It isn't her fault that it all sucks, he knows that, but he hasn't slept since his birthday. Since she became Victor. 

"I'm sorry Peeta. I am. Should I try to talk to Rye? Has he been eating?" She asks, blue eyes filled with concern. 

"It's not your fault. You can try if you want but he hasn't come out for anyone. Even Aragon's little sister came over, and he just cried more. Oh, and he comes down at midnight to eat cookies that dad makes." Peeta tells her. He attempts to ignore the quiver in his voice. Peeta feels sick just thinking about how he's watched his brother quickly spiral and spiral away and away and away until he's stuck behind a door that's locked 24/7. Peeta still feels guilty. 

Delly shakes her head. "Maybe tomorrow if he's still locked up in there. We'll see him at tonight's celebration. Speaking of which, we better get going if we want to get to the train station if we want a good view of her." 

Peeta huffs. "Who says that we want a good view of her?" He retorts with crimson cheeks. 

"Your eyes do, silly." She laughs. Her expression softens and she touches Peeta's shoulder gently. "And I know that you won't truly believe that she's alive until you see her in person. So hurry up." 

Peeta swallows the lump in his throat as he grabs something from the counter and shoves it in his pocket. He shan't cry, Peeta repeats in his mind as he follows Delly down the path. He shan't cry, because if he starts then he'll never stop. And he can't cry, because people will be watching and Mellark Men don't cry. Never. So Peeta shoves it all down and forgets he ever had emotions to begin with. That's good. Forgetting is good. 

Peeta and Delly arrive at the train station early, but not so early that they're the only ones. There's some reporters from the Capitol, Greasy Sae, Madge Undersee, and of course the Everdeens. Primrose and Lilliane. Peeta watches as Delly brightly reads of the train schedule. Twenty more minutes and she'll be home. 

He sums up all the courage he has left, which isn't nearly enough, and slowly treads over to where Primrose Everdeen is standing. She raises on eyebrow when she sees him approach, looking hesitant. 

"I- umm -I made you a cookie. It has chocolate in it." He says quietly. Peeta's unsure of his voice can actually be heard, but Prim nods slowly and takes the cookie from him. She looks skeptical but melts as soon as she takes a bite. Her expression softens as she eats the whole thing, and Peeta is reminded of why he enjoyed baking. The music, and the sight of people enjoying what he makes. It's beautiful. So beautiful. 

"Thank you." Prim says shyly, rocking back and forth on her heels. Peeta smiles at her, and he thinks that maybe he's breached the small divide. Maybe he'll make more cookies. Maybe next time he'll have enough courage to hold a conversation. Maybe someday he'll be friends with her. With both of them. But today is not that day, so Peeta just walks away. 

Ten minutes. 

More people come. 

Crowded. 

Too crowded. Too loud. She'll hate it. She hates crowds. 

Five minutes. 

Peeta sees Rye. 

He wants to say something, but there is nothing to be said. Nothing is okay and everything is broken.

He's thinking, searching, for words when there's a whistle. 

A train pulls into the station. People step out and are met with hushed whispers. Then she sees her silhouette. 

He can't breathe. 

The girl on fire is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expected to publish this soon, but not this soon. Wow. Hope you enjoy, and any feedback is appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

He has always been faintly aware of Gale Hawthorne. Two years older and so much... More. Stronger. Larger. Older. Better. So much better. 

Peeta's first prior introduction to Gale Hawthorne was when he was 10 and Peeta was only 8. 8 years and far too innocent for the world he lives in. 

Peeta was trying to find someone. Rye, to be specific. The middle Mellark brother had been lost for an hour or so ever since school ended, and Peeta had looked everywhere. Well, everywhere in the Town. Peeta hadn't crossed over to the Seam very often. No reason to, he supposed. Peeta had to admit that it scared him slightly. The older boys in Town told stories of the Seam peopl. Bad stories, with bad language that Peeta knew better than to repeat. Dirty stories. 

So with a deep breath in and out, Peeta entered the Seam. He got a few odd looks, but he stared down at his feet and didn't make eye contact. Quick trip in and out. No more than that. He just had to find Rye and leave with his brother in tow. 

Peeta turned a corner, hearing voices which grew louder. Loud and taunting. Like mamma. He didn't like mamma's angry voice. When mamma got angry it hurt. But it wasn't mamma who was laughing meanly. 

It was Gale Hawthorne. 

And Rye. 

And some other Seam boys. 

Peeta took a couple of seconds to observe what was happening. Gale Hawthorne and Rye looked to be in the middle of what looked quite like a fight. A rough one at that. Both of the boys had bruises and Rye's nose was bleeding heavily. The other Seam boys seemed to be spectators, like this was some some sport. Peeta felt sick. 

"Stop! Stop!" He yelled, running in the middle of Gale and Rye. Both boys stopped out of shock, fists paused halfway and mouths slack with surprise. It was almost comical, but Peeta didn't find it very funny. "Rye, you're coming home. Now." He demanded. 

The Seam boys broke out into laughter. "What?" One of then mocked. "Little Rye needs to go running home to his Mamma? Awww." They jeered. They leaned down and leaned right close to Peeta's face, and he stumbled backwards. 

"Leave him alone." Rye hissed sharply, dragging the Seam boy away from Peeta. "And shut up." He said, though Peeta wasn't sure who was talking to then. Perhaps him. Perhaps the Seam boy. Perhaps all of them because it was too loud. 

Gale raised one eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to follow your brother home or make him watch us brawl like beasts?" He asked. When Rye didn't answer, he chuckled. "That's what I thought. Scram. Shoo. This isn't your part of town." He said cooly. Peeta had heard many stories about Gale Hawthorne, and none of them matched up with what he was seeing there. Those stories spoke of anger and rage and hitting random town kids for the fun of it. Not the sarcasm and witty words. Not for the first time, Peeta wondered if the Town kids had it all wrong. 

Rye grabbed Peeta's wrist and marched away, not saying anything until they crossed over into the Town. "What were you doing, getting in between me and Gale! Are you stupid?" He asked, voice sharp like the knives in the bakery that papa didn't let Peeta use yet. 

Peeta rolled his eyes. "What were you doing, getting into a fight with Gale? Gale Hawthorne? Are you the stupid one?" He retorted. "And your nose is bleeding." Peeta added, because he did care about his brother. 

"He said something." Rye replied hesitantly. He was keeping something under the wraps, Peeta figured out, but what Rye was hiding was still a mystery. "And I wasn't about to let that slide. I called him out and it escalated from there. And no one will think anything of the bruises. They'll just think it's from Mom." He declared, running his sleeve across his face to wipe the blood off. 

Peeta has never spoken to Gale Hawthorne directly, but that memory is fresh in his mind. Like a wound. Salt in a wound that won't heal. 

\------

Once Katniss steps off the train, Gale is beside her immediately. He whispers something in her ear, and she leans her head on his shoulder. She looks tired, and all Peeta wants to do is retract those years of aging from her eyes. Make them shine again and let her live like a normal child. But he's too far away from her, and far too much of a coward to ever think of talking to her. So he stays silent as the crowd cheers and Katniss greets all of them with a forced smile. 

"Thank you! Thank you all so much! Now, I say it's perfect time to celebrate. To the odds being ever in my favour." She exclaims, pumping the air with her fist. Peeta isn't sure if he's the only one who sees through her cheery facade, but the crowd responds enthusiastically. Cheering and applauding. 

He's caught up in the crowd making their way to the square. It's suffocating. The enthusiasim and the noise. He spots a familiar head of curly blonde hair. He cuts sideways through the cross, apologising as he bumps into people. Eventually , he finds his way to Delly. His hand fishes out for hers and their fingers tangle together. He squeezes her hand in an attempt to feel as though he's still alive. As though he's not suffocating. 

Once everyone makes it into the square the crowd spreads out a bit and Peeta can breathe. In and out. Inhale and Exhale. It's simple, really. Delly holds his hand even once he can breathe again, and he's grateful for her. For not the first time, he's glad that he handed her a rock that reminded him of her, back when they were just tiny children. 

"I'm starving. They have hot stew over there. It's looks delicious and we have to try it. Come on Peeta!" Delly tells him excitedly. Her hand moves down to his wrist and before he can't protest- he's not hungry, he feels sick, it's too busy over there -she's dragging him over the stall. 

Soon a hot bowl of stew is in his hands and Peeta has to admit that it tastes delicious. It's lamb stew from the Capitol. It's rich and creamy and Peeta devours it in no time. Delly laughs and hand him the rest of her bowl. He protests but she fixes him with a glare so sharp that he shuts up instantly. 

Delly bows in front of him, poorly held giggles forcing their way up her throat. "May I have this dance, Mr Mellark?" She asks in a gruff voice, sounding much too similar to Peeta's father to be comfortable. 

"Why of course, Ms Cartwright!" He responds in a high-pitched voice. The two of them break into giggles like two silly school children and rush to the centre of the square, where everyone is dancing together. 

Delly leads the dance, spinning Peeta around and dipping him, though they nearly fall at that fancy trick. He can't remember the last time that he had this much fun. It's been a while since he laughed properly. Since he properly let loose. 

His bubble bursts as the dance slows down. He glances to the side and spots Katniss, and him. Gale. The two of them are dancing together with their forehead touching. His hands are on her hip and she has her arms wrapped around his neck. They're whispering together with mouths that are so close. She smiles slightly and chuckles gently. 

There's a bitter taste in Peeta's mouth and he breaks away from Delly. He zig-zags through the crowd and leans against a building on the outside of the square. He stays there even when Delly joins him and rubs his shoulder. She's looking at him with pity in her eyes, and he can't bear to make eye contact. 

Slowly, the celebrations come to an end and everyone makes their way back home. Delly gives Peeta a quick hug before he goes, and he hugs her back tightly. The journey back to the bakery is a blur and Peeta doesn't bother changing before face planting into his bed. 

He falls asleep quickly. 

\------

Peeta wakes up near midnight. It smells of smoke, and he can faintly hear screaming. 

Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter were supposed to be one, but why do that when I can add more of Peeta and Delly being cute friends and end on a cliffhanger?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implications of R@pe. If you need to skip it, skip the flashback at the very begining. It doesn't make much of an impact plot wise. You can continue reading after the '------'

Peeta had been seven when he had first been allowed to even go near the ovens in the bakery. Of course, little kids want what they can't have and Peeta spent a good majority of his childhood longing to be allowed to work with the ovens. So when he was twelve, he argued that if he was old enough to be reaped then he was allowed to work with the oven without supervision. His father had reluctantly agreed and Peeta had worked with the ovens ever since. But he remembers when he was thirteen. Thirteen year olds have a habit of throwing caution to the wind, he reasons, but thirteen year old Peeta had been especially dumb sometimes. Especially when it came to the ovens. 

He placed a batch of cookies in the oven, but was distracted by what was happening on screen. It was mid-summer, right in the middle of the games, and one of the District 12 tribrutes had a chance. Franny Quinn, that was her name. She'd gotten away from the Cornucopia with a small backpack that while didn't contain much, had kept alive for one whole day. A major achievement considering nearly all District 12 tributes die in the Bloodbath. 

Peeta leaned against the wall and stared at the dry dust land of the arena. There was barely any water sources except for a spout by the Cornucopia which was heavily guarded by Careers. Franny had been lucky to find a small bottle of water in her pack but it wasn't enough and she was struggling with dehydration and hunger. 

Franny glanced around frantically. She must have heard something that the microphones couldn't pick up on. The camera panned out to show Irvin, the male tribute from District 2. His face was painted with a bloodthirsty grin, the type that would haunt nightmares for years. He looked over Franny, who slowly turned around to face him with wide eyes. He placed a hand on her shaking shoulder. Irvin looked like a shark. Less of a human with those shaded eyes and blood stain on his cheek. It wasn't his blood. 

Nine year old Peeta didn't mean to watch what happened but he couldn't hear his eyes away from the screen. It was horrible. Horrible wasn't even halfway to describing what happened after Irvin pushed Franny against the tree and made her strip of her clothes. Peeta watched it all with watering eyes. Watched what no thirteen year old should have had to seen. Watched someone he knew -barely but he knows that Franny was kind. -go through something that no one should be subjected to. 

The oven beeped, and in his shock Peeta blindly opened it and shoved his hand inside to grab the tray. 

It burned. His hand felt aflame and the heat was nearly unbearable. He tugged it out instantly with a loud cry. His skin looked red and sore. 

"Peeta? Peeta what's wrong?" His father asked, coming downstairs at the sound of his son in pain. He took one look at the screen and Peeta and the tray of cookies on the floor, and scooped Peeta up into a large hug. "It's okay. It's all okay." He promised, rubbing Peeta's back with a flat palm. 

"It's not!" Peeta sobbed into his father's shoulder. "It's not okay. Franny's not okay and my hand hurts and mamma's gonna be mad that I ruined the cookies. It's not okay!" He said. It wasn't okay. None it was okay, and Peeta knows now that it never has been truly okay.

"I know. I know. And I'm sorry that you had to see what happened to Franny. I'm sorry that it happened to her. I'm sorry. And I'll bake another batch of cookies. Your mother won't know what happened now, okay? But you need to promise to have your full attention on the oven when using it. An accident could start so easily and none of us wants that, right? Promise that you'll be safe and careful." His father said, looking at Peeta with sad blue eyes. 

"I promise." Peeta replied in a hoarse voice. 

And he did mean the promise. He promised to never leave the oven unattended and he never has. But accidents have their way of happening. Especially if they aren't entirely accidents. 

\------

Peeta shoots up immediately. He glances away, taking in his room and the sleeping figure of Rye. So far, he can tell that the fire isn't coming from the bakery, which is a relief. However, his body is in panic mode and he's pulling on a pair of trousers and an old shirt and rushing out of the house before he can think

He thunders down the stairs like a herd of elephants. Outside is filled with chaos, people crying out and people confused and people running. The celebration and enthusiasim has been cut short. Peeta makes his way through the crowd and finds himself on the edge of the Seam. With a deep breath, he steps over and into where he's rarely been. The smell of smoke intesifys the closer he gets to the center of the Seam, and then he hears the. 

Her screams. Her sobs. Her shouts. She's yelling loudly, wild tears streaming down her cheeks. She looks like a mess. A complete mess because the house in front of her is burning up. The type of the fire that destroyed half the forest in her games. As he gets closer he can make out what she is yelling but he doesn't recognise the names. 

"Hazelle! Posy! Vick! Rory! Gale!" Katniss screams loudly, feet treading on the gravel like she wants to run into the blazing inferno, but Mrs Everdeen is holding her back. And Peeta understands. The house on fire is the Hawthorne residency. 

A hand clamps his shoulder. "Mind helping instead of standing around gawking? We're trying to stop the fire from spreading. Grab a bucket and get to work grabbing water from the source over there." The person jabs their thumb in the general direction of where everyone else is running with buckets on their hands. Peeta nods and quickly joins the flurry of citizens. This he can do. He can help this way. 

"Mamma! She's in there. He's in there. They're all in there! I have to help. Mamma, let me go!" Katniss's voice echoes as Peeta throws his bucket of water in to the inferno. The panic in her voice sticks to him. The desperation. She sounds on the verge of breaking, carelessly toeing the line of insanity. Peeta wants to protect. Take the hurt out of her voice and her eyes. Help her out herself back together. But all he can do is to help put out the inferno. 

"Help! Help!" A small voice rasps from... Inside the house. The owner of the voice can't be older than five years old, though probably a couple years younger. Peeta looks around to see if anyone else has noticed. No one. He inhales deeply and dampen the collar of his shirt. In a moment of madness, or perhaps he just wants to help Katniss, he dashes into the inferno. 

It burns. It burns worse than his hand did when he was thirteen and still mildly protected. That burn still aches when it gets too cold or when he flexes his index finger too much. But this is a different type of burning. For just a second, he understands how Katniss felt in the arena as it burned down around her. And he can't breathe, but Peeta pushes through the eye-watering pain. He finds the owner of the voice curled up by a wooden beam that must have fallen. She's tiny. He can faintly put a name to her. Posy. 

"I'm going to get you out." He whispers, but every word is a struggle as he bends down and picks her up. She's light, far too light but he shakes that thought of his head and runs for the exit. He jumps out and lands in the wet gravel, protecting Posy against his chest. He gasps for air as Posy is lifted out of his arms. 

Rough hands sit him up. Peeta is further away from the flames now, propped up against a Seam house. "What were you thinking?" The person hisses. Bran. He looks furious. "Running into a burning house? You could've died. Died! Are you stupid or what?" He says sharply, shaking Peeta by the shoulders. The bricks of the wall is sharp and Peeta's head hurts. He swats Bran's hands away and attempts to stand up. Stars dance around in his vision and his knees buckle as he falls into Bran. 

"You're not going anywhere. In fact, I'm gonna see of they can spare medical attention for you." Bran insists, sitting Peeta up against the wall. He starts to protest to his older brother, but his mouth is too dry and it's all too fuzzy. 

There's a figure in front of him. A girl with dark braided hair and grey eyes that are alive with tears. She lets out a choked sob. "She's gonna be okay. Posy. Thanks to you." Katniss looks him in the eyes. "Thank you, Peeta." 

His name sounds like a melody on her lips and he smiles faintly at her. He's burning up in flames all because of the girl on fire, and he loves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

If Johnathan Mellark treasures knowledge, Peeta Mellark treasures memories as well. Every moment is a pearl in his mind, positive or negative. All those little pearls of memories are the building blocks for him. If not for those memories, he wouldn't be the person he is today, Peeta reasons. 

A strong memory is that day. He was eleven. When he threw the bread. It comes back to him easily. The blackened crust of the burnt bread, the stinging that his mother's hand left on his cheek, the ringing in his ears from her yelling, the smell of the pigs as he tossed the bread towards her, the taste of blood in his mouth as he rushed back inside the bakery. He has a few regrets. He should have done more. He should have handed her the bread, not tossed it. He should have talked to her, not rushed inside. He should have done more. Done more to help her. 

But what done is done, and Peeta can't forget that day. It's one of the more precious pearls, that along with the first time he saw her, and heard her sing. She's always had a special place in his memories, and always will. The most precious pearl of them all is her. Always will be. 

\------

Her looks similar to how they did that day, dark and empty. Full of grief that had been simmering for a while. Fresh wounds torn open and oh so blinding to him. There's a whole world locked inside Katniss Everdeen that Peeta doubts anyone will ever see. 

"Nearly there. One more minute." She says through gritted teeth. Mrs Everdeen and Primrose are busy trying to help Posy, so the less medically-experienced Everdeen has been stuck transporting Peeta along with the help of Bran. Both of them have his arms slung over their shoulders. They take slow steps and stop every so often so that Peeta's vision can stop swimming up and down. He hasn't been sick yet, but he sure as feels like he's about to. 

One minute actually takes three and a half, not that Peeta is counting, but they're finally at the Everdeen household. It's a crazed hurry inside and outside. Mrs Everdeen and Prim are frantically working on Posy, who lays limply on the kitchen table. The only sign she's alive is the shuddery jerking of her chest up and down as she breathes. In and out. It's comforting in a way. Posy is alive. Alive. Breathing. Not dead. 

"Sit here." Katniss instructs, lowering Peeta onto one of the beds. "I'll see if Prim will be free soon to check you over." It's the longest sentence she's said to him so far. Katniss rushes off and Bran perches beside Peeta. 

"Have I told you how stupid you are already?" Bran says with a scowl. 

Peeta sighs and leans heavily against his older brother. "Only a couple of times." He mumbles in reply. His throat itches and his words are more of a croak, but he knows that it could be a lot worse. 

"I'm serious. What if something had blocked your exit? What if Posy had been further in the house? What if you hadn't been quick enough? What if you'd gotten burned? So many things could've gone wrong then. I could've lost you." Bran says with a tremor in his voice. He clutches Peeta's hand tightly, a bit too tightly, but Peeta doesn't speak up. Bran looks like he needs it. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't think... I just knew that someone needed my help. I didn't think." He says lamely. 

"I can't loose you, Peeta. Rye nearly volunteered at the Reaping. He nearly went into the Games and I doubt that he'd come out. Now he's slipping away from all of us because Sage Aragon is gone. We're loosing him. I just feel like I need to protect both of you, because you're my baby brothers. I'm not doing a very good job of that." Bran snorts, then looks Peeta on the eye with surprising intensity. "You don't need to play the hero, Peeta. A little bit of self-preservation won't kill you."

Prim rushes over quickly, wiping her hands down on a tea towel. "Sorry for the wait. Posy's out of the woods for now, but we had a hard time locating the burn cream. Katniss seems to leave it everywhere. She put it under the bed once." Prim pauses and turns back to Peeta. "Sorry, I'm rambling. Now, how are you feeling?" 

Peeta scratches the back of his head and winces at that action. "Not too hot." He admits. "Dizzy, slightly nauseous, and my head hurts. No burns though. Oh, and my throat aches. Like a lot." He lists off on his fingers. Prim nods thoughtfully and Peeta can see the gears turning in her head. 

She holds one finger and moves it side to side. Peeta's eyes blearily follow her finger and Prim nods to herself. She asks him some simple questions, such as his age and asks him to repeat a couple phrases. She then probs at the bruise in his head, which hurts more than it should and Peeta can't help but let out a small yelp. 

"I don't think you have a concussion. I'd still be cautious just in case." Prime turns to Bran. "Don't leave him alone. Wake him up every so often if he does fall asleep, or if anything seems off. Apart from that, come back if anything gets worse. You should be okay to go home now. Make sure your parents know that you're not dead. Oh, and Peeta? Thank you for what you did. We're all extremely grateful." She says with a gentle smile as she opens the door for them to exit. Bran thanks her quietly and leads Peeta out of the Everdeen household. 

The two are quiet on the walk back home. All that needs to be said has already been said, and both are exhausted from the long night. Peeta can just see the sunlight peeking up through the rows of small bungalows in the Seam. The sky fades into a mess of orange and pinks. Peeta glares up at the sky. People have just died. This is no time for one of the most beautiful sunsets he's ever seen in his pitifully short life. It's breath-taking and so horrible. People are grieving. People have lost. People are gone. And yet the sky chooses to carry on like nothing is wrong. 

"Now, we need to be as silent as possible. If we're lucky, mamma won't be up yet and we won't be mauled alive. If we're lucky, only papa will be up and if we carefully explain the situation we'll be fine. Remember, you never ran into a burning inferno that used to be a house. No half-assed bad decisions. You were sensible and helped out out the fire but triple and hit your head. Post was recused by some other idiot." Bran instructs. He waggles his finger at Peeta, who can't help but feel like some small child being chastised. 

Peeta attempts to be quiet when he's entering the bakery, he truly does, but he's never been graceful even before and it's only gotten worse with a head injury and the diziness. He takes a couple of minutes to stumble up the stairs, looking too much like a drunk Haymitch Abernathy for comfort. Bran shushes him a couple time but eventually rolls his eyes and gives up on Peeta not making an obscene amount of news. 

"Remember," Bran begins as he opens the back door, "You didn't run into the fire. You just-" His voice trails off as his face becomes pale and panicked. Peeta cranes his head through the door to see what spooked Bran, and his own eyes widen at the wonderful reception they've been given coming home. 

The entire Mellark family - including Rye, though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else - is gathered right in front of the back door. Their mother looks pissed off, their father looks slightly concerned, and Rye looks bored and empty. Hollow. 

"Oh there you are! We heard the commotion and decided to take a look at what was going on, but Peeta here walked right into a wall. You know how clumsy Peeta can be sometimes, right? So then we spent a while wandering around town because we were still confused about what was going on, until we gave up and came back here! So, did all of you get good nights rest?" Bran asks. He's always been a horrible liar, too cheesy and over dramatic, and Peeta has to groan. They're doomed. So utterly doomed. 

Their mother marches over to Bran and grabs the collar of his shirt. "Do you take me for an idiot? Lying to me? We all know where you've been. Out in the Seam, risking your life for some Seam brat. Have you no honour?" She hisses, shaking Bran by his collar. Although he's a good bit taller than her, she always managed to make Peeta feel small. Inferior. Useless. A nobody. 

"We were worried." Their father butts in, perhaps trying to salvage the situation. "You gave us quite the scare. I thought that you both... That something bad happened." He finishes although he looks like he has more to say. 

"We're fine." Bran promises. "Sure, Peeta nearly got a concussion," That seems to do more damage than good, and Bran panics to fix what he said. "But! He's all okay. Just a bad bruise and a tad bit of diziness. You're all okay, right Peeta?" He asks with a death stare to Peeta. 

Peeta nods. "Yes. I'm okay, I promise." He says softly. His father nods silently while his mother still glares up at the ceiling as if it's the cause of all her strife. Rye looks up from his feet and makes eye contact with Peeta, before glancing down again and biting his lip. Bran drags Peeta upstairs and into the shared bedroom. Peeta can remember the whole argument that came with that. Bran argued that he needed the extra space because he was the eldest, but Rye parroted the same thing. Eventually Peeta and Rye sucked it up and shared a room out of fear for their mother getting mad. 

Peeta just about collapse into his head with a relieved groan. He's exhausted. Far too exhausted. Bran chuckled and sits beside him, rubbing Peeta's shoulder with his hand gently. It's a fond gesture, one that reminds Peeta of crawling into Bran's bed after a nightmare, or when their parent's fights were too loud to ignore. 

There's footsteps into the room and a dip on the other side of the bed. Two familiar voices, Bran and Rye, mumble things to each other but Peeta's too tired to listen properly. He lets their voices wash over him like waves against the grainy sand. He's only seen the ocean in school photos, photos of District 4. It looks beautiful. He wants to paint it soon. 

"I love you Peeta. Always will." Rye whispers, a disembodied voice in the darkness. He squeezes Peeta's hands and Peeta squeezes with what little strength he has left. After that, he's lost to the bliss of unconsciousness. 

\------

Peeta would have preferred a good undisturbed sleep, but he's woken up once every hour, plus another time at morning because apparently according to Bran, 'He was moving weirdly'. Rye stays there the whole time, smiling gently at Peeta whenever he's woken up. It's a sad smile though. There's something woven into Rye's eyes that Peeta doubts will ever go away. They've lost their playful gleam, their boyish charm. Gone. 

When he's shaken awake yet again, Peeta bats Bran's hands away. "It hasn't been an hour yet." He points out, rather annoyed that he is still tired. 

Bran sighs and strips the thin blanket away from Peeta. "I know. But mamma has suggested that we have lunch together. As a family." He explains sourly. 

"Oh no." Peers mumbles under his breath, sitting up slowly. He rubs the gunk out of his eyes and blinks a couple times. He feels less nauseous, but his head pounds and aches. 

"Oh no indeed." Bran replies with a chuckle. "Now, mamma will throw a fit if you're not down in like, five minutes. So hurry up and look presentable. Or else." Bran warns. Peeta jumps up suddenly and flings himself across the room to grab some clean clothes. He hops around wildly as he pulls the trousers on and he can hear Bran laugh out loud. Peeta scowls at his older brother as the two of them go down the stairs to the dining room. It's not really just a seperate room, but a four person table shoved in the corner. They added a fifth chair when Peeta was born, and it doesn't quite fit with the rest, which were all purchased together. He hates his chair. 

Rye, their father, and their mother are already seated at the small table with plates of stale food in front of them. Rye hasn't eaten any and instead is shoving it around with his fork. 

"Finally, there you two are. The rest of us have been waiting, and the food is nearly cold. What took you so long?" Their mother demands with a glare to her two sons. 

Peeta stares down at his feet as he sits in his stupid mismatched chair. "Sorry mamma. I was sleeping." He replies quietly. He's learned to not argue with their mother. Nothing good comes out of it. Nothing good at all. 

The whole happy family picks at their meal silently, all wearing some degree of scowls on their faces. The food isn't too bad, just some squirrel that's a bit old, but must've been saved. It can't be Katniss's, so Peeta concludes that Gale must've caught it. His stomach drops as he realises he's eating a dead man's meat. He doesn't eat anymore after that. 

"Those games were really something, right?" Their mother says to break the silence. "I knew from the start that the Seam brat would kill the other one. She's a monster, it's in her blood. And the way he went out. Begging for mercy. Pathetic." Her words are laced with hatred and she's spitting poison. 

A knife flies across the room, clanging against the room. Peeta looks up from his plate to see Rye shaking with what looks like rage. "Don't say that. Don't talk about him like that. Don't you dare." He seethes, eyes dark and angry. Scarily angry. 

Their mother scoffs and somehow dismisses all of Rye's anger and all of his rage with one flicking hand movement. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm simply speaking my thoughts. And I truly believe that it's high time you move on from that boy. You're seventeen, Rye. It's time for you to start to plan for your future. Settle down with a nice town girl."

"Never." Rye whispers under his breath. "Never. Never. Never. Never." He repeats until he stands up suddenly. He walks off upstairs without a single room. The house is silent, too silent to be comforting. The nothingness is suffocating. 

Bran breaks the precarious quiet by clearing his throat. "Is now a bad time to mention that I'm engaged?" He says in a low voice. 

"Who?" Their mother snaps. Their father looks weary - like a man two time his age - but doesn't speak up. 

Bran swallows the lump in his throat. "A girl from the Seam. Her name is Juniper Bryen."

Noise explodes from the table. Noises of anger and fustration. Noises of retaliation and hatred. A suffocating sense of weariness. 

Peeta stares at where his brother disappeared off to. He has to do something, he know that much, but it doesn't come to him until he spots the flowers right outside the window. 

And now Peeta Mellark has a plan. 

\------

It's a bad plan. He realises that early on, but it has seemed so good earlier and he can't persuade himself to give up without trying. Peeta is determined to somehow make this very bad plan work, for the sake of Rye. 

He crosses the fence with only some difficulty. It's not that hard to climb because there's a lot of points to grip onto with his feet and his hands. Maybe he shouldn't be climbing this early on after nearly dying, but Peeta can't give a damn. He's fine. Totally fine. 

He drops into the meadow and gives himself a quick pat on the back. Step one completed. Now the hard part. He takes a deep breath and walks further until he's certain that he's crossed into the woods. It's darker out here and a certain feeling of panic erupts in Peeta's stomach. He glances around at the trees and swallows the lump in his throat. Bad idea. Very bad idea. 

He gets the acute sense that he's being watched, and he spins around. "Hello? Who's there?" There's no reply, as he expected. Peeta backs up, into a tree, and them he hears it. 

It's a mixture between a growl and a yell. A scream. It's not entirely human, but not entirely animal either. A mutt, perhaps. Peeta's eyes widen with fear and he stumbles away from where the sound came from. His legs continue moving away and away. 

Something is following him. It's picking up pace in this wild goose chase through the forest. Peeta's heart pounds in his chest and all he can hear is ringing in his ears. He's going to die here. Out in the forest with no one to find him. He's going to die alone. 

His foot catches on a tree root and he goes flying forward straight into the forest ground. He needs couple seconds to orientate himself and that's all the time the mutt needs. By the time he's sat up and ready to move, an arrow is facing right at him. Straight to his eye. 

Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer bc iM trying to write longer chapters, and fix my sleep schedule. Nevertheless, hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> This story demanded to be written, and just wouldn't let go. I've seen quite a few Victor! Peeta stories, but none of Katniss so far. So that's how this was born.   
> I had a lot of trouble with the tense for this story, so if you spot any errors please let me know!


End file.
